


Pandora's Roses

by nocturnalremedy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Harry, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Divination, Feminine Harry, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, M/M, Maesters, Manipulative Harry, Politics, Powerful Harry, Pre-Canon, Prophecy, Red-Haired Harry Potter, Seer Harry Potter, Smart Harry, The North (ASOIAF), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnalremedy/pseuds/nocturnalremedy
Summary: What happens when one opens the box of forbidden knowledge. With his wisdom and insight, he will be at the forefront of the most intellectual in a dying society. All in a world of politics and books mixed with magic and vengeful gods. A story of the Maester, Hariloas Tyrell.Maester Harry - Slash/Gay - Dark Themes
Relationships: Harry Potter/Adrian Pucey (Past), Harry Potter/Benjen Stark, Jaime Lannister/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 152





	1. Pulchra Es Amica Mea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breadero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadero/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was heavily inspired by many fo the GoT and ASoIaF fandoms. I fell in love with one of Breadero's works "Jon Snow The Pretty Boy" so I'm gifting this work to them. Even though this story will only have select smut scenes, I hope I can entertain any of y'all reading it.

**I've been re-writing the past few chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or works authored by George R.R. Martin, or J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Pulchra Es Amica Mea**

**266 A.C - the Reach, Westeros**

A summer cold sweeping through the vast plains and fertile fields of the Reach. Many a farmer, wondering where this cold snap had arrived from.

It was all for naught, they thought, as they had no clue about the evil magic rising from the northern ice fields. Spiders of tremendous size, and beautiful blue eyes awakening from ancient caves submerged in the cool depths of horror.

But away from this terrible foreshadow, is a small soul wandering its way across the multiverse and into a new adventure, where cunning and money shall be their calling, rather than heroism, or bravery.

This essence, carried by magic, will no longer have a prophesied past or future. A fresh start, a new age, dooming powers in the north, sharp teeth to the south, and treacherous waters all around. Magic would once again resurface to the continent of Westeros.

* * *

**An unknown amount of time earlier…**

In a small cottage, perched on a hill in Devon, Britain, lie one of the most powerful wizards of magical history.

A light wizard entrenched in goodwill. A mortal man, who met with his sons and daughters as he lay on a bed, illness striking his once strong - but now frail - figure.

He was once known as the great light wizard who destroyed evil, on the stonework of his ancient school. He was but a normal man laying, awaiting the next great adventure, a resounding legacy trailing behind him. Magic would still whirl around his dips and bends, harmony at last.

He was once a man that was known as Harry Potter.

A simple man, who did in fact permanently void the power of death's possessions. Breaking the wand, a stone lying deep in an ancient forest with magic hiding its existence, and an invisibility cloak that gradually lost its own power as Harry denied Death's power.

A simple man, who endeared to Magic, as they saw how one of their children fought against the grasps of darkness.

A simple man, whose love and loyalties would not waver. Bravery in one step, and honour in the other. Gryffindor did teach him to fly as high as honour. He would, in fact, fly quite high, his love for quidditch passing on to his own children, as he and his family reminisced about his memories and dreams.

Harry should have simply accepted the Hallows into his internal magic. However, it was already too late to accept now. That was the first blow against the pride of one of the strongest primordial beings in the universe.

"Father, I-" Albus attempted to form some sense of words on his tongue, words that would not form into legible sentences.

"Albus it is not the time to dawdle on a white skeleton, when you and your children's futures, still have a long way to go". Harry spoke with the command of a general, a strange scene when his voice shook his withering frame.

"It isn't right, for Magic to take you from us when you yourself, should still have a long journey ahead. I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to cure your Dragon Pox, and save you in…" Albus trailed off as he sighed, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He blamed magic for their families misery but little did he know that magic would not dare do this purposefully. Their love for Harry was absolutely astonishing and would be attracted to the bright light in the darkest, as he shone with his beautiful inner character and values.

But Death was always prowling.

It was a more basic reason that had caused the rise of Dragon Pox and kept it strong against his magical immune system. Muggles had found out about it ages ago, and science had evolved to see to the molecular levels. It was a genetic ailment. When Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had contracted the disease at the young wizard age of 50 years, it would unknowingly attack the small number of ovules that Euphemia still had, and latch onto their DNA. As they would cure their disease, later on, the illness would silently wait in dormancy.

James Potter was a rare pureblooded child, pampered due to his high status. He was the only success after the many failed attempts of child-bearing Euphemia had undergone. She was devastated at her inability to conceive and even Fleamont would soon believe that she was barren. The dormant disease would wait inside of the stem-cells of his bone marrow until it could resurface.

He would never contract the disease, however, as he died too early along with Lily Marie Evans who would further the spread of the disease through their own child, the parasite still in suspension.

Harry would at his own 50 years of age, also contract the disease like his grandparents, but magic was attracted to him far more than those before him.

That was his downfall. Magic quantity and density would strengthen his own Dragon Pox. He had both in spades, and the disease would thrive, even against medicinal or magical cures.

It was a tragic life-story to die so young, even after his heroism and the number of lives he saved through his school and career. He was a fallible mortal without the powers of death, and he was going to die.

Perhaps he shouldn't have blown off Death without a care of the consequences.

Perhaps it might've been the tinkering and pride of Death that would tweak the disease only slightly enough to kill it's target.

"My life is only a thread of the greater tapestry. I might hate the fates for pushing me to every which way and controlling my life. However, I understand that my life can only continue. My adventure will continue, just without you all beside me." Harry ended by quoting his good but manipulative headmaster.

"I hated my headmaster for being a crackpot junkie, who would use unrecognizable riddles and make me go into circles. He was right on one thing, and that was that after death, we will always continue onto our next great adventure."

It seemed almost as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders as James stood by the door looking in apathy, and Lily Luna layed on his lap crying until her eyes ran red and the pink of her cheeks spread to her neck and ears. Ginny had left the room because she was unable to see her husband die in front of her. Her grief would bring her own death if she were to see him pass away.

He knew that his life was ending as images of his school, his crushes, loves, fears, and hopes melded into a blurry movie. His small affairs with Adrian Pucey, in the Quidditch locker rooms of Hogwarts, and his first and wet kiss with one crying Cho. His marriage to Ginny, and the birth of his children. It was strange how regrettable interactions continued to flow alongside the ones of pure love and happiness.

He wasn't ready. Harry was not ready for imminent death. He had told himself that it was natural, to not run from death like the coward that Tom Riddle had done, but to accept it and deal his card in the next life.

If there was one.

He didn't know, and that was scary.

But as he stayed in the company of his family, he knew he owed magic for all the elating moments in the Wizard World.

As darkness crept up, he almost had half the mind to hold on, to the last moments. The beeping intensified, as he heard screams from a distance. Was it Lily Luna or was it, Ginny?

But he let go, and silence.

He closed his eyes and watched as the colour spots in his eyes, faded to darkness. A bright light at the end of the tunnel. A tunnel so vast and consuming that it felt too scary to enter. But he walked anyway because he knew the way out. The bright light could only get stronger as he trudged to the other end of the chasm.

He felt himself changing directions as he walked, and started dropping down the tunnel instead. The power of death cracking on the ceilings and walls, as another magic found it's lover and tried pulling him back.

Magic was a childish and frankly stupid being. However, they were also impulsive, and they fought against Death, they fought for Harry's life.

Magic could only fight so much against their brother, a primordial being. An ancient entity fighting with a younger attacker. And so Magic instead chose to save Harry by changing his destination. His destination to the underworld shifted into another of decaying magic and politics and metallic sword-thrones. They had no choice.

Harry didn't notice anything as he simply fell on and on until he couldn't anymore.

* * *

**266 A.C 1st Moon, 21st Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

And on an auspicious day in Westeros, where one fetus and a small light of life come together, can the people hear the terrible screaming of Olenna Redwyne. A queen in her own right, felt the pain of childbirth, for the fourth time as she birthed another son.

One who would grow in skill and curiosity, a mind far more calculating than her own. A wit that was far sharper than that of the blood-witch Shiera Seastar.

While he may not lack beauty, he would never be as beautiful as his family. To make up for that, he would choose a path of wisdom.

As the birth drew to a close on the last day of the 7th moon, 266 A.C, a single cry would ring out by a newly born child and cease.

It was the birth of one Hariloas Tyrell. A child blessed by Smith and Crone.

In one life he was a soldier, in this he would be a scholar of the arts and sciences.

Praise the Seven.

* * *

**AN: I've been re-writing all my chapters for this story, so expect some major changes. I want to flesh the characters out a bit more. I hope that I can move away from the idea of MoD, and try another interesting concept with this.**


	2. Pueritia De Terra Incognita

**I've been re-writing the past few chapters.**

**Just a heads up. There will be 13 months/moons in the Westeros calendar because a single full moon comes approximately every 28 days and 365/28 = 13, hence 13 moons. Of course, this is simply for my own story and does not apply to another's story.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Pueritia De Terra Incognita**

**270 A.C, 3rd Moon, 17th day - Highgarden, Westeros**

Bright light rays, littered across the vast yellow plains of wheat growing along Highgarden. Outside were the hardworking people of Highgarden, toiling at another fresh and beautiful harvest. The Reach was, after all, the most fertile land in Westeros.

It was on this day that Hariloas Tyrell woke up to dawn shining through his coloured glass panes. His 4-year-old body stretching under the emerald-tinted light. It had been a full 4 years since his birth, and only a single year, since he had been able to gain full control of his past-life and memories. They seemed murky for the first two years of his life, and thankfully he could not recall his birth.

He had so much excitement, so much invigoration. To look out into this new world.

He slowly slid out of the velvet covers, embroidered with golden roses above a common moss background. A single silver-lined mirror was plastered against white marble walls.

As Harry walked up to the mirror, he could only gaze in detachment, as he remembered how strange his coming into Planetos had been.

Shoulder length red hair fell into straight bangs around his heart-shaped face, both reminded him dearly of his old mother Lily Evans, and coincidentally they were traditional Redwyne features he'd inherited from his new mother as well.

Olenna Redwyne was a beautiful woman with hazel eyes and puckered lips. Translucent skin that displayed her youthful visage and blossoming young figure. He wasn't as pretty as her, though.

She was a seductress, and Harry knew that from the small stories she would tell him as a child. She would not expect his young brain to remember or understand her words, but his body and mine were of two different ages. He had 50 years of experience and age with him already.

She was a bit of a... whore, and he could fully relate to her. Who would want to marry into a family of incestuous brothers and sisters?

An interesting way of thinking about her marriage to say the least.

Olenna Redwyne did not fancy her Targaryen betrothed, instead absolutely loathing her engagement with Daeron. In the dark of the night (Rasputin? Harry could see some similarities in her storytelling), she had seduced Luthor Tyrell, to bed her instead of his betrothed, her sister. Daeron was found to have broken their betrothal when they were both 18, on 256 A.C. but little had the Maesters known, she had already broken it at the age of 15.

Harry's eyes were something that neither parent had produced, and for that reason, Olenna felt unsure herself, as Luthor's and her own family had no such eye colour. They were a beautiful murky green, like seaweed underwater, where light refracted off into the depths of the ocean floor. It had caused some confusion amongst the family, however, Luthor Tyrell was far more concerned about power. His two sisters and brother, all took after the basic Tyrell features of dark brown hair, and hazel eyes. Olenna was sure that he knew something was going on, but what would it really matter to him.

Mace was comical with the attempts he made to play with Harry. Sometimes he would act as if Harry was as fragile as china, and at other times he would seem so disinterested in him and treat him with either indifference or with fear of being reprimanded by Olenna for doing something wrong.

Both Hariloas and Olenna, however, had agreed that he was a bit dim. Mace was failing his lessons with Maester Arrel, in topics surrounding economics and history, had attempted sword fighting but vowed to never return after he sprained his wrist while swinging his wooden sword callously.

Seriously! What did he think was going to happen if he was using a heavy wooden tool and acting like a flailing hippo? He absolutely abhorred the arts and refused to take up any brush or instrument. However, Mace was quite ingenious regarding strategy, and at times he could make a good clown in terms of making a fool of himself. At other times, he was able to make intuitive/insightful discoveries that would be beneficial to war or battle.

What a strange boy.

* * *

**270 A.C, 3rd Moon, 27th day - Highgarden, Westeros**

Harry had troubles during sleep, with nightmares surrounding dark purple and deathly green lights shooting around him.

Sometimes Olenna would sing a hymn of the Mother for him during those dark nights, when shadows seemed to eat up the pale moonlight;

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray,

stay the swords…."

It was trauma from Auror training and the many battles he had to fight as a soldier for the ministry. When he first joined the Auror department, he was a young hopeful, who thought that the Aurors may be the only citizens of magical Britain who weren't tainted by ministry faultiness.

He was wrong.

The Aurors were a subsection of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who, frankly, had no power to fight against the minister whatsoever. Of course, laws were set in place by the Wizengamot to stop an uprising from within the ministry security forces, but Harry was too idealistic to even recognize those before and even after he joined the forces.

He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to see death anymore. It was interesting how he never once felt this way, after Voldemort's defeat and the bloodshed by his friends and the people of Hogwarts. He felt this pain now - in his new life.

He had so much anger

So much misery and doubt, that would cloud his mind.

As an Auror, Harry learned that civilian casualties will always happen. They panicked, you panicked, spells could hit anyone if they were deflected by the shield charm. It was feasible to see innocents die during infights or conflicts. Harry didn't want to see them die. He even dared to say that he became a pacifist. What would he do, however, as a second son? What would be his worldly path?

* * *

**270 A.C, 4th Moon, 8th Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

It was only until Harry roamed the great hallways of Highgarden with delicately sculpted statues and chiselled stone walls, that he found a huge library. One that was filled with the knowledge gained by both the Tyrell rulers after Aegon's Conquest, and the Gardner rulers since Garth the Greenhand's time. In the magical world, he had learned that magic was powerful but intelligence was one power that reigned above all. It was information that allowed him to master his spells, to find new spells, learn court politics, and to learn battle strategy in the DMLE.

Powerful repertoires of knowledge that made his tiny 4-year old stomach quiver in delight.

He saw one book on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Finding a small stool with decaying legs, on the side, allowed him to prop himself up and view the book's title **'Grand Repertoire and History of the Tyrell House".**

He supposed the book was, in fact, ongoing, as the many yellowing parchment sheets at the very back were empty and awaiting new stories.

He flipped to the front again and started from the top of the first page. The book first outlined how the Garth the Greenhand was a gardener king. Apparently Garth had mystical powers that were connected to nature. Through the descriptions of him making the land around him bloom with flowers and wheat, Harry could believe that Garth was something connected to a druid. Druids were magical beings or magicians who didn't control but rather flowed with nature, sometimes using their powers to **guide** nature into doing something for them.

He encountered tales of his family's stewardship of the Reach and interesting tidbits about their early forming. On one page it outlined their high stewardship as regents of the young King Garland VI Gardener. After his father passed away in a battle against dornish forces, Osmund Tyrell would become a high steward and rule the reach until he came of age. During this time, Houses Manderly and Peake would fight to put their wives who were Garland's older sisters, on the throne as the Queen of the Reach.

The infighting would lead to an overhaul of the two houses after Osmund the Steward brought up the banners of the Reach to stop the conflict. House Peake was annihilated and their daughters and wives executed. House Manderly, on the other hand, would flee from the Reach to the North, suffering from their wounds. They would plead with the Stark-Winter King, and take up a lordship on the eastern coast.

But most interesting was the passage of the Tyrell's betrayal of the Gardeners. "Following the defeat and death of King Mern IX Gardener and his other kin at the Field of Fire during Aegon's Conquest, Harlen Tyrell, hereditary high steward of the Reach, surrendered Highgarden to Aegon the Conqueror. As a reward, Harlen was granted the castle along with the dominion of the Reach as Lord Paramount of the Mander. As Wardens of the South, they frequently warred with the Dornishmen, who remained independent. Harlen disappeared in the Dornish sands during the First Dornish War…"

His house was one of cunning and fortitude even in the early days. Knowledge was power and it was the Tyrell's knowledge of Targaryen dragons and the house's strength that would allow them to surrender and rise once more. From steward to Lord Paramount.

How interesting, he found, that individuals who would stay well in the shadows, could hold so much power.

Harry himself, was never able to stay in the shadows, but this was a life that could possibly allow that.

Who were those who held power in the shadows?

Assassins, would, as they could contort the shadows, take the faces, and maneuver death to kill their targets. That wasn't what Harry wanted. He didn't want to kill or maim, or follow another human bidding for money. That would go against his moral code. In a game of thrones, he noticed that moral code would be quite useless.

Stewards like his own family were another option. He didn't want to stay in Highgarden and hadn't done anything truly worthy to be placed as a steward in another keep. That option would be a no-go.

Most of his thoughts went to the Citadel. From there, his options would expand. If he would become renowned, he would be able to not only enter another lordship, but he might also be able to receive the title of an Archmaester or even a Grandmaester. If he would take on economics, there could be a chance of gaining the position of Master of Coin, on the small council.

If he didn't do anything, he would still be placed in a household, and as most of the south would dislike the North for its emptiness or economic disparity, he could enter into a maestership there. It would be amazing to find out the secrets of the weirwoods, or northern magic. As the saying goes, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Perhaps the Citadel was where he needed to go.

As he was reading, one Maester Arrel, silently watched a 4-year old child read through the enormous Tyrell encyclopedia. He was already known as an intelligent toddler, throughout the household, and it terrified him? No, it was simply strange how a child could read such advanced literature.

As he put that to the back of his mind - he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth - Harry had read the passage of Aegon's Conquest and Arrel thought it would be fitting to bring him down from the stool.

He knew exactly what Harry could become, even if Hariloas himself, didn't. As Harry read through the passages, he saw exactly how fascinated the child was at their history, at their cunning. He could not steer the child any other way than the way he learned himself. Intelligence sticks to the intelligent.

Harry would become a Maester.

* * *

**AN: Mace will not be a total oaf. Hope you enjoy this story.**


	3. Libertas In Adulescentia

**I've been re-writing the past few chapters.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Libertas In Adulescentia**

**270 A.C, 5th Moon, 1st Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

The Tyrell family was a rich and prosperous house. Their wealth stemmed from the granaries and fields which supplied food to the millions of people across the continent. It was this wealth and prosperity, that would give them power over other great lords and others who were all too willing to remind them of their previous steward status. Wealth gave them the many swords and shields to armour their large populations and form massive, if unskilled, armies.

However, the power came with consequences, especially during the time of Luthor and Olenna. As the Tyrell family continued to grow and branches split, more and more men would vie for the throne of the Reach.

Not only were houses like the Florents and Hightowers, major powers who also sought the title of lord paramount, but other Tyrell children from side branches were all too ready to fight against their cousins for power.

Every major kingdom had its share of usurper houses. The Tyrells have the Florents and Hightowers, the Starks have the Boltons, the Baratheons have the Conningtons, the Martells have the Yronwoods, Tully's - Freys, the Arryns had the Arryns of Gulltown, and the Lannisters had the Tarbeck-Reynes.

Had.

The Lannisters slaughtered their usurpers, and while Olenna Tyrell respected Tywin for his power and might, she found it quite distasteful. She would also be remiss if she ignored the might of the old Winter Kings, as they slaughtered the rebellious Greystark family.

The North was a... tragic Kingdom. A strong and evolving region, back before the Conquest, when they might've been one of the leading provinces in scientific and medical development. How had they fallen so far? At one point, they were overflowing with gold and riches.

Now, with their falling keeps, and ever-diminishing populations, do they start acting humble. As if they never recognized that they were once a rich and extravagant kingdom who spent thousands of gold on southern luxuries. Only when the gold left, and there was no more money coming, did they cut back on their external fiscal policy.

Perhaps it was when Aegon conquered the kingdoms, or when Alysanne Targaryen gave the New Gift to the Night's Watch.

She would never see the most fertile areas of the Reach fall to another household like the Starks had with the arable land south of the Wall. In a kingdom where land fertility equalled power and money, losing valuable assets meant the demise of their House.

This was the mindset that one Olenna Tyrell had. One where she viewed the land, and it's people as tools for power and money. Assets to place in the bank, to gamble away, to conquer. She might seem like a simply-cunning woman. They never truly saw how dark she might've been. An individual who was controlling, power-hungry, and cared about her family's legacy a bit too much.

She had information to seize, and a household to reign over.

Many years later when a small girl was born, Margaery Tyrell, would the house realize the extent of Olenna Tyrell's micro-managing. It was the prickly feeling behind one's neck, knowing how deep this woman's plans went.

She was an amazing and apprehensive character all at the same time.

Harry could only begin to learn from her and attempt to gain some of her expertise as the Queen of Thorns.

As he continued his studies with Maester Arrel, who somehow began having an infernal twinkle in his eyes, he had no idea of the plans to encourage him towards a career in the Citadel.

It was certainly welcome, as he truly thought that he could do this life justice entering that institution.

Olenna Redwyne was a cutthroat and calculating young woman. With four children and a still virile husband, she could still go strong in producing heirs for her house.

It was only the slight detail that she hated childbirth and pain, too much to actually care to bring another child into the flower fields of the rich. She also needed to focus on shaping her children into not becoming dunderheads.

Mace Tyrell was not dumb by any means, at least to the point of Jaime Lannister. She heard just last week at the floral festival, that he was having terrible issues with reading and writing. A lord who couldn't understand his letters.

What a joke.

Of course, she only needed to worry about exposing Mace, her daughters, and Harry to the court. Her last one seemed to have a much better head than her other children. Still a bit annoying, and impulsive, but nothing too hard to have snapped out of him in the Citadel.

It helped that Harry might've looked a spitting image of her.

As Maester Arrel had so eloquently put it, Hariloas must be thrown to the Citadel.

Her youngest child's cherry hair came into view, and she put away whatever documents the useless treasurer had brought to her to sign. Why was she surrounded by these foolish workers, unable to finish their jobs and missing half of their heads at every turn of a project? She wasn't a farmhand, who handled a nest of chickens.

She might as well throw all them out, and deal with the work by herself.

Alas, Harry was a silent reprieve from the immense work that was being a mother and a lady. She was sure that he was much too smart with those, at times, beady verdant eyes.

He was an intelligent and often cunning boy, both of which fit her ideals for a Tyrell child. Hariloas may not have wanted the seat of a lord, but she knew that he could reach even greater positions of power.

How Olenna could manipulate Harry into following her demands, as she had with so many other men, was unknown. Her duties needed to focus on the wealth and continued growth of the Tyrell house, but she knew that she could strike a good form as a caring mother. She had only been named the Queen of Thorns recently, the last name day of Rhaegar Targaryen she thought. Before that title, however, she was an actress. A flexible tongue can become sharp with age and experience.

Olenna knew that he would grow to be as cutting as the thorns of a golden rose that symbolized the Tyrell house. His mix between her auburn hair and Luthor's own dark brown sheened with a rich sense of life and vitality.

She still had so much work to do.

* * *

**270 A.C, 9th Moon, 1st Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

As Harry grew older, he could only see the bleak contrast between his old life and this new one.

He had a mother, a loving father, a brother, and two sisters. He wasn't punished for his freakishness like in his childhood with the Dursleys, and he wasn't being hunted by a sociopath this time around.

The only features of this life that could compare to his last, was his magic and his wealth.

His magic had changed on the way here, to this strange new world.

It was a strange sensation. It felt less polluted than with the industrialization of his past world, but it certainly felt much older. Almost as though some ancient souls merged with the magic core of the planet. The shadowlands of Asshai were definitely much older than the histories of Westeros, and the Starks themselves had reigned as Winter Kings for 8000 years. 8000 years after the gruesome tale of the long night, and before Aegon's Conquest.

Far longer than any Earth magic. These people had remained relatively stagnant for 8000 years, and magic stagnated with them.

For Harry Potter, wandless magic was difficult and troublesome to deal with.

In this new world, however, his magic was much more malleable and versatile. He suspected that this flexibility was due to the age that this world's magic had compared to his last, and also due to the greater number of magic users. Asshai, Valyria, Qarth, and the North were all variables included in how magic evolved quicker in this world.

He would've at first suspected that this world's magic would be much wilder or harder to control. At first glance, it could be, but he heard about the divination of Red Temple acolytes and the massive intricate illusions that could be cast by Asshai priests.

Magic was much different, and it scared him.

One of the more fascinating subjects he could research were the differences between the dragons of Valyria and those he had met at the Romanian Reserves.

These dragons would show some similarities to the ones on Earth, like their sleek designs and scaled ridges and curves. However, one of the key differences, he noticed, was their inner anatomy. Planetos dragons had one larger duct to breathe fire through, located in the middle of their soft-palate (back-roof of the mouth). They seemed to evolve from serpents, as those reptiles do not have uvulas. However, Earth dragons have two small ducts which breathe fire, in front of each tonsil. They seemed to have evolved from a mainly mammalian monster - most likely a chimera or griffin.

He was fascinated by the anatomy of not only monsters but also of humans. Here, he could learn about the human body in full capacity, without being labelled as a dark mage who wanted to use human pieces in evil rituals.

Those baboons in the ministry put strict regulations on anatomical or necromantic-related information unless you were a member of a healer's organization or had a job in a hospital.

They were at least smart enough to make their wizards stupid enough. Stupid enough to not even have the information needed to perform dark rituals which would inevitably scare them away from dark magic in general. Both that fear and lack of knowledge would limit the use of rituals and blood-magic severely.

Either way, learning about the anatomy of new and unheard-of creatures, as well as of the history of the kingdoms were much more interesting than going out into the wet and dirty courtyards to train in murder and killing

Hariloas was a tragic pacifist. As he grew up he would gain an immense fear of bloodshed.

It would be his first visible weakness.

He never enjoyed killing in his past life, and he would ensure that not a single soul would die from his hand in this one. Except in the last life, blood never truly could run in rivers. The killing curse was too quick and bloodless.

Some people might've thought that Jaime Lannister was a joke due to his dimness, but imagine a member of a Great House becoming hemophobic.

In a world of death and war, it was nigh-impossible to not have some form of malice against some party or individual.

After all, in the game of thrones, you either win or you die. However, Hariloas would rise up over the ancient system and simply choose not to follow it.

In any case, he was always to pre-occupied to even think of war or the game.

He had so many questions about how the North had a reigning family for eight-thousand years and never had their kingdom really evolved from a medieval society from the dark ages. He never considered this age to be near the stages of the renaissance because there was no progress made for a printing press or cultural/philosophical re-emergence. They seemed to be stuck in their religious fanaticism, and misdirection.

Humanism, which was a concept that embodied the Renaissance, was not being introduced anywhere here - apart from Braavos. Even there, though, he heard of their secretive assassin groups and extreme payment forms for overdue loans.

The terrible gender-specific tales were another monstrosity in the east. Stories of rape and assault on the women of the Dothraki peoples, and the castration of men in Kayakayanaya before they can age, forced to become eunuchs.

Inequality and strife across the nation, women were forced to become loyal dutiful housewives with no power unless you ruled. Apart from the 3 cities in central Essos (Kayakayanaya, Samyriana, Bayabhasad), gender inequality was still tipped in favour of one side.

Had these people not evolved past the most primitive thinkers, in the more than six thousand years of written history? It seemed that the Valyrians were getting somewhere until they blew themselves up with the dark magic that rose from unkempt souls and dissident slaves.

He wanted to enter the libraries of the Citadel and see the towering bookshelves of information hidden from the common people.

Magic was believed and well-known throughout the nations, and he could only think about how much more the citadel could offer as the keepers of knowledge in Westeros.

He would never know how much he would be disappointed with what he found later.

* * *

**271 A.C, 1st Moon, 30th Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

His mother and Maester Arrel were planning something and it was only until he used his nearly lacking legilimency skills on them, that he found out their plans for him. If he were any other boy in this world, he would have been thoroughly angered or would have rejected their idea, but it was exactly what he wanted.

He knew already that he wouldn't have been able to get his own keep to rule anyway since there were already so many land disagreements between cousins and other lords in the Reach. Hariloas was excited beyond belief when his governess - a portly woman who had an ample bosom and stout fingers, called him to his father's study.

Ariadne was a woman with 3 sons and two daughters, using her influence as Garth Tyrell's wife, to gain herself a position in the castle household. Harry, knew of her small manipulations in raising him to be a bit more tolerant of his cousins. No doubt, they would try to pry a path into his private life and become confidants, but he wouldn't allow for that.

He needed to compose himself, and hide any sort of excitement he had until he had returned to his room. They could not know how much he had been waiting for this. However, he wouldn't attempt to lie about how he didn't want to leave, his mother could catch it much too quickly,

As he entered the hallway of the study and walked to the ornate door with tapestries of old lords, hanging on each side, he prepared himself for a battle with his father.

While his mother and maester may have been fully amicable with the idea, his father would not agree to it. He was a man of the sword, not one for books and sleek words. Much like the lords of the north, who Harry heard had no cunning, Luthor believed that might was the greatest power.

His governess opened the door, as his 4-year-old body was still too short to reach the latch.

Mother and Maester Arrel stood on each side of his sitting father. The slightly thick, but still strong man leaned back his broad shoulders on the ornate, velvet-cushioned throne.

The firm weirwood table lay flat in the centre of the room, and the empty chair on the other side of the lord-paramount was ominously inviting.

As Harry toddled his way to the tall chair, he could only beg the Mother to convince his father to set him on his path of knowledge and the Crone to guide his way in Westeros.

He plopped himself up onto the green and teal wrought-copper chair and stared at his Father for some indication.

As awkward silence ensued, he was reluctantly left to begin the conversation.

Damn this old coot.

"Hello Father, how are you doing…?"

Ugh - disgusting conversation skills. He could not believe that he was too cowed under the dim stare to even attempt small-talk.

"I am of perfect health, Hariloas. However, Olenna and Arrel have informed me that you have some interesting choices of paths laid in front of you?"

What was he even supposed to say? Currently, the clueless child would be the most realistic facade he could display, but the tone in which Luthor used "interesting" was... well, it wasn't a good one, for sure.

He better pull out all the big guns with the mediocre acting skills he gained from the bureaucratic Auror Department. While it may be different from attempting to rise in his position, it certainly couldn't be completely useless.

"I don't understand, father? What do you mean by choices?"

"If you were presented with the choice of going to the Citadel and becoming a maester, what would you do in response?"

"Um, are there any books there?"

Arrel cut in before Luthor could even attempt to form an answer. "The Citadel is an institution that provides challenges for some of the best minds across Westeros. You would do well under the tutelage of the Archmaesters. Of course, the Citadel is also the largest fountain of knowledge in the known world!"

Harry was even less amused by the old maester. Even if he was a bright child who had a large vocabulary, Maester Arrel acted as though Hariloas was a much smarter child than he had let his facade be. Also, the near blatant ignorance - the Citadel could not be the greatest centre for knowledge because many more cities and lands are older than Westeros was a continent. However, he kept his mouth shut about the issues surrounding Arrel's little recruitment-propaganda speech.

"I want to go then! Can I go, Father? I want to see all the books."

As Luthor sighed, Harry was concerned that his excitement would fail at convincing his Father the other direction. It wasn't for nothing, however, as Luthor slowly began to open his mouth and recite some of the best words Harry had heard across his years as both an Auror and a student.

"Very well then, Olenna and Arrel will stay and talk about arrangements, and the servants can begin packing up your clothes and food in a few days. I expect that by next week we will have our travel plans ready and we can send a few guards to escort you to Oldtown."

While Olenna was decently satisfied that one of her children chose the path of knowledge, Arrel and Hariloas were ecstatic about the plans. However, Luthor seemed to view Harry in a much more cold manner most likely since he was choosing books over the sword.

While Harry lost a bit of the excitement he had, seeing the disappointed and dismissive face his father pulled, he tried to cheer himself up about the opportunities to find out more about the magic in Westeros.

As his emotions grew to greater heights, the magic around him slowly swirled faster around their lover. It was gaining the excitement that it's love was feeling, even if it had no idea what it was all about.

Magic was going to watch over its little doe, and if it failed it would choose to end itself and leave the planes of existence with Harry.

Magic had a life and soul too, but no one knew. That was a sad thought. It was a childish being. A bit mischievous but woefully courageous and loyal. Almost like an excited dog as it bounced around Harry in small waves ruffling his hair in unnoticeable breezes.

Tom Riddle was just as beloved as Harry, but the former fell in battle against the latter and it simply could do nothing as they both used it to their own ends **.**

It loved Harry all the same, through the person's rise and fall, death and life.

* * *

**At the same time.**

Something greater ripped a hole through the spacetime of planetos and unknowingly spread its roots and power over new lands.

It was Death, and he was coming for the soul that was stolen from him.

He didn't want to alert any of the other deities until the very end of its plan, where even they would not be able to interfere quickly enough. Death simply wanted what was promised to him. To take back something that was never meant to exist in this universe.

Too many creatures of death existed in this world for a proper balance, and he wanted to leave it as soon as possible. Mayhaps the servants of the Many-Faced God, would be able subordinates. That god was still much too powerful, however.

Decisions, decisions, and no right or easy choice.

All it had to do was find the irregularity. Unfortunately, even if Harry was using magic, Death would still need to sift through every magic-user in Planetos.

He was ever coming and eternal, and Magic didn't know what big mistakes they had unleashed upon Harry as a result of moving him out of his natural timeline and fate.

A big mistake indeed.


	4. Semel In Somnium

**I've been re-writing the past few chapters.**

**THIS STORY IS SLASH! If you didn't read the summary.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Semel In Somnium**

**271 A.C, 2nd Moon, 6th Day - Highgarden, Westeros**

The sound of tapping feet in the wide and ornamental corridors of Highgarden had been a common sound heard echoing throughout the week. Swords battling on the courtyard as knights attempted to win their chances in being the party escorting Hariloas Tyrell directly from the Reach to Oldtown.

That decision to simply march straight to Oldtown, rather than pulling stops at Brightwater Keep or smaller lordships along the way, was a joint choice between Olenna and Luthor.

Olenna saw the increasing tension between the Florents and their own house, deigning to not allow Harry to see their subtle tongues. She couldn't allow her son to be caught in their slithering engage, or the smaller holds of the lesser lords.

Hariloas was, however, blissfully unaware of any sort of scheming done on the other side of the castle as he locked himself in his room to practice the mystical arts and the occult. His small abode flashed with wild green and purple magic. Light seeped under the doorway and out the windows with no one to watch.

_Wingardium Leviosa_

Harry enchanted the small cot to rise into space with his mind, it's bedsheets dangled across and wafted from the air current of the open window.

Beautiful and soft auburn cascaded in straight lines down his back, as Harry watched his magic flow so easily across his fingertips. He had been practicing and mastering all the spells he knew with wandless magic, as the servants prepared his departure from Highgarden. Hariloas had no clue how it could take them so long to get ready for a short trip. There were no keeps between his path from Highgarden to Oldtown. It seemed as though they were preparing him to go overseas up to the old Hills of Andalos in Essos.

However, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and continued to study non-verbal spells consecutively.

 _Finite Incantatem_.

The bed was quite high up his gothic style room with it's perched arches, and he quickly added another spell into the foray to reduce the impact.

_Arresto Momentum._

Taking a small break from the simple magic session, He started gloating about the ease of living in this new world. How hard he struggled to live back in the Forest of Dean with Hermione, in comparison to this new and mysterious planet. It was a stark contrast but he couldn't exactly complain about this dissimilar world.

Mace started to finally slim down to a practical size, losing his remaining baby fat, his fifteen-year-old body losing the pudginess, and his facial features sharpening to the handsome Tyrell construct.

Harry loved him and his other two sisters. They were family that he could trust, people that were absent in his last life. At time, Harry wondered if Lily and James would have other children after him if they survived. They were all Harry could trust. The small new family which built strong bonds with Harry. Arrel, he supposed, was another honorary member of the family, and his father was soon to lose his place in Harry's heart.

Harry was thrilled to leave and explore this new world. While he wasn't actually travelling, he did get to enter the largest repertoire of knowledge on this side of Planetos. So many books to learn from, history to explore, and knowledge to spread.

Oh, dear Seven, he had so many things he wanted to share with those old scholars in the large halls of the Library. Especially concepts surrounding hygiene, physics, or finances. He had no clue how to make modern inventions, however, his previous skills in arithmancy had gained his knowledge in mathematics and physics.

After he took up the Black lordship, he was basically tutored by the unwilling goblins, on how to control his money.

They absolutely despised how he desperately came every week to the bank because he couldn't understand how to use stocks and effectively manage the declining Black household. Through this fiasco, they would finally give in and discipline him in the art of economies and finances.

It was nearly unfathomable how easily the goblins forgave his misdemeanours with the Lestrange Vault, but he didn't question their actions. They gave a whole song and dance about how thieves would pay dearly, but it might've been the massive goblin tolls from Voldemort and the end of a dictator that forced their hand in treating him with respect.

These "lessons" - more like forced attendances - were simply to allow the Goblins to make more coin from the Black family, as they had done so in the past.

Greedy little creatures.

Either way, Herbology hadn't taught him much, and he couldn't share any of the other skills he had grown up with, because they were mostly all magical skills.

Astronomy was useless with the contrasting astrology, constellations, and the strange decade-long seasons.

Ancient Runes had no place being shared with others, their limited knowledge of any sorts of magic, and the simple fact that the Elder Futhark alphabet didn't even exist. That didn't mean that he wouldn't use it personally.

Certainly, he would extort some forms of magic for his own benefit, not that Magic themselves would care about their lover using them like that.

He should've just accepted going into Slytherin.

Cushions were strewn every which wall onto the walls and floor. With a silent mending charm _,_ the messy cushions placed themselves back in prim order.

One small pendant with a gold rose above peridot leaves, lay in the crevice of his slim neck and collarbones.

A sign of his eternal love for his new family, and his noble upbringing in this socio-economically disproportionate world. A world where, while slavery existed on another side of the world, the peasantry were still treated like horse-shite along a road. Healthy for the green grass, but overall unsightly to those walking alongside it.

A knock on his oaken door was the only warning he had to get dressed in the pair of clothing laid on his bed during breakfast.

It was a viridian cloak over a pair of loose black trouser-suspenders and an ostentatious white frilly fitting blouse. He looked everything like a southern noble, and while others might've looked rich and gaudy in the outfit, he seemed to pull it off with unnatural cuteness.

A flippant wave of his blood-red hair across the side of the cloak and a final gaze that scoured the room for forgotten pieces.

* * *

**Courtyard of Highgarden**

Fuck, he was about to cry.

He came into the world five years before, and he was already leaving the only family he'll truly know. When the servants were packing for the trip, or when he was planning on how to take over the Citadel, he never paid attention to the fact that he was most likely never to come back.

That placed a sullen mood over the entire party.

It was a bit funny and strange, the cracking faces his family were trying to withhold. They all were holding back tears.

His mother was, for a son that was leaving, most likely never to be seen again. A brother, for another brother who couldn't be found in the library with his curious eyes. His two sisters, for a child that was ever so sweet. The only family that didn't seem to cry at all, was his tall, overbearing but still dim, Father. How cold a man could be to an innocent son, was a large question that plagued Hariloas. Harry gave a calm goodbye to him, and he seemed to smile? Only for a split second, and Harry was a bit thrown back. Was it a hallucination?

He loved them so much.

Making his final goodbyes to his mother and Mace, and after that noble farewell to Father, Harry entered the plain black carriage moving out of the wrought iron gates.

He had been preparing for nearly the entire week for his first large, magical feat in this new world. It was a simple, actually quite complex as he used wandless casting, barrier spell.

_Fianto Duri - Protego Maxima - Repello Inimicum_

Used consecutively, the charms would bind onto the small runestones he placed along the borders of Highgarden, and erect a large magical barrier protecting the castle from evil or invading forces.

Originally the spells would create a magical barrier that would stop anything from entering the area's protected, but by wandless casting, he could infuse **his** will into the protections and change their duty just slightly.

As a shimmer formed a dome around the ancient fortress, it settled and sheened away into complete invisibility.

No invading army would be able to enter past the walls, repelled and made to be slightly distracted away from attacking the fortress.

They were strong ancient protections that only Harry would be able to disable, not that he would even want to.

A butterfly and a hurricane, Westeros' history could only change from here.

In a carriage, moving along the Rose Road, to Oldtown, Harry felt finally ready to venture and leave the little nest that was Highgarden.

* * *

**271 A.C, 2nd Moon, 20th Day - Oldtown, Westeros**

A long but uneventful trip moved him across the green grasslands, yellow wheat farms, and rainbow flower fields until he finally reached the destination that was Oldtown.

The small carriage shook on the cobblestone road.

The first thing that was visible from the distance was the massive tower of the house of Hightower, reaching high into the sky. Deep into the clouds and tilting ever so slightly.

What a strong magical feat and Harry knew that it could only be magic, to construct such a formidable fortress. White marble and a wide torch-fire alight on its roof.

As the massive brass gates came into view, Harry silently began planning his entry into the Citadel.

They had already received notice of his arrival and seemed to greet him with a small entourage, led by a massive white gelded horse and a lithe man in leather sitting above.

He supposed that might've been the city guard captain, considering that the lord of Hightower would never wear that atrocious clothing of animal carcass.

He would enter straight into the Citadel, instead of greeting the Hightowers. Another decision of Olenna. Perhaps his journey of being a eunuch was at tit's beginning. Of course, while they would never cut off any part of him, it was a sentence that carried through life.

It was a bit sad that the same couldn't be said about the horse, with its own castration.

It wasn't that essential for him to have the freedom to have a woman in his bed, men could be just as erotic for him. It was a bit gross for him to think of sex now when he was 5 years of age, but he had the mind of a 55-year old.

He did have some interesting views during the trip, however. After his own bath times, in his own small tub, the knights would bathe in a nearby river.

And it would slightly remiss of him if he didn't take a mischievous peek at them. They were hunky men, that was for sure, to say the least. However, his views were more for anatomical comparison between the wizards of his old world, and the knights of this new one.

They were simply much fitter than wizards in general. While he chose not to look down further their bodies, their thick abdominal muscles, triceps, and biceps were all on full display.

The only other person that Harry had seen with such great detail, was Adrian Pucey when he was fucking Harry against the wall in an abandoned part of the Quidditch locker rooms.

At times, Harry would still think of his cock and strong muscles as he pushed up Harry against the ceramic walls, with his legs around Adrian's hips, and deep thrusts bringing him to euphoria. Adrian's groans and Harry's whines would fill the small showers as he dirtied the latter until they were both hot and breathless.

He was the only man Harry ever laid with before and after his marriage with Ginny, and one of the only handsome men in Hogwarts.

Out of all the inbred Noble scions, Adrian seemed to have hit an ancestral jackpot. However, by Harry's own seventh year, they would be on opposing sides of the war. A stray cutting curse on his back sent by one Hestia Jones, felled him as he hurled a killing curse to Colin Creevey.

He didn't even know how much he actually cared about Adrian until he saw him fall in the Great Hall. They never agreed with either's beliefs, but it didn't matter under all the lust and dirty acts when they were both still minors. Adrian was only two years older than he was, and Harry's fifth-year was stressful for both of them. It's so easy to lose the people around you.

He lost his train of thought again.

Right, wizards v.s. knights. The purebloods suffered from extreme physical and magical defects as the incestuous marriages affected the gene pool. Most wizards already endured bad fitness as they lacked exercise and commanded magic to do most of their bidding. These knights, though, were trained from a young age to stay healthy and strong and it showed.

Another interruption to his thoughts came as magic flared up as Harry passed a small ancient barrier. Old occult most likely set by the builders of Oldtown. Brandon the Builder had a special place in his heart. He must've been a powerful sorcerer to have built such magnificent cities and keeps.

The wonderful shower of magic fell on his body like powdered sugar on classic doughnuts.

His research in the Citadel would definitely begin with research into the Stark Family. Followed most likely with the famous obsidian candles and the last magic tomes. There was the slight problem of the crazy or eccentric Archmaester, Marwyn.

Hariloas was not ready to divulge his interest in magic to others, lest they peer into his room at night, or concern themselves with his affairs. Imagine, a Tyrell son entering into the fields of witchcraft and sorcery.

Along with the many charms and spells he had learned, as well as the magic runes around Highgarden, he also had knowledge of illusions. While the disillusionment spell was useful, forming fake realities for the world was much more powerful, and useful in distracting enemies from the sound of running feet or the slight rustle of clothing.

Back in the Citadel, however, many acolytes had to worry about chamber duties. While the full-fledged maesters were given many thorough jobs in rewriting, archiving, research, and being sent out to lordly households, acolytes had to do the more revolting tasks. They had to deal with research patient feces and cleaning.

Harry, only due to his hierarchical rank, would be exempt from these tasks. Instead, he focused on his own personal studying, test-taking, and chain-forming.

The carriage entered into the courtyard of the Citadel. A round beauty, nearly resembling the Hagia Sophia, with a single round coliseum-like wall instead of four spires. All of the city was embellished in white marble. This was another sign of the Reach's vast wealth.

At times he was proud of them for their wealth and hard work until he remembered the tax and import of wheat to the Vale and North at avaricious prices.

This time, his dream would be to find love, but one that he would make come true again. There would be a different path he would be forced to take, considering his future work, but it would come true.

He stepped out onto the greying cobblestone, free of muck and shite for kilometres. These people, after all, had standards to uphold.

In a city of knowledge and trade, they would need to maintain beauty and elegance.

As the guards travelling with him, swept off their horses, they walked behind him with his large trunks of clothing. The maesters only wore grey, however, Hariloas refused to wear the disgusting colour, reminding him too much of the elephant-skin Stonewall High Uniform. As such, Hariloas only brought white clothing, it was a more muted shade, that was permitted Many loose-fitted black trousers, and many white blouses.

All made to just slightly pass around the Citadels uniform standards. While they were sticklers for the grey, the white and black would be slightly accepted as he was a main-branch member of House Tyrell.

A small acolyte welcomed him into the building to get registered with the maester-receptionist, and would later guide him to his quarters.

Hariloas skipped across the soft purple-black velvet fabric, upon the chiselled slabs of grey stone. He was still a child of 5 years, so it would be asinine of him to walk like a lord.

The maester looked down from his desk and paperwork and promptly looked back to find any mention of an arrival. Upon his desk was the note of an arriving acolyte. One Hariloas Tyrell.

The maester stood up suddenly and almost toppled-over the chair, knocking down the wax candles and slamming his hipbones against the oak desk.

It was a bit pitiful and Harry almost sympathized with the man's pain. He was certainly a bit of a clutz at times as well.

"I apologize for my lacking efforts in welcoming you, milord. You made such long distances in such a short time." The maester seemed thoroughly slapped. It was true, however, that the speed at which most travelling occurs in the Reach was snail-like. The nobles were often fat and lazy, more troubled with their entertainment and feasts than making good efforts to move or create. The lack of innovation in this world was staggering. It was a mix between the dark-ages and the Renaissance in Europe.

Oh well, he had no power to change the ingrained system as he was no first son. However, he would make sure that the nobles he served would not become unhealthy and piggish.

"It's no problem, my good sir. There were not many obstacles on our journey. You seem immersed in those documents. A hard-working man I see." It would do good for him to slightly flatter the maester if only to make a good impression. Hariloas had masks to uphold after all, but they might not suit him very well.

The maester quickly informed an archmaester of his arrival and the acolyte guiding him took him and his men to Hariloas' chambers.

It was a small ten-by-ten-metre room, with a cot, a desk, a chair and a few candles. The windows were large and round, but cloudy. A fine carpet was the only distinguishing feature in the room. As a noble, they no doubt gave him one of the larger rooms but expected him to bring his own furnishings.

The guards set up his clothes and then briskly left. They understood their purpose well enough. Don't be seen, and don't act out. They would immediately leave back for the Highgarden, now that their duty was done.

After changing into one of his loose fitted pants and the white shirts, he trekked the long way, back to the reception area with the acolyte.

In front of the maester, was now a simple parchment form.

"This is a course list, you will fill your chosen subjects down, and then hand it to me. I will then promptly notify the corresponding archmaesters of your course list.

On the sheet were about a dozen different areas of learning he could enter. However, Hariloas chose the ones he felt would be the best for him in the long run. His hair slightly fell forwards clouding his eyes, and he needed to brush it back behind his ear. He loved his long hair, but perhaps it would be good to trim it. He felt the spilt ends and definitely promised a good shear of the bottom.

He chose to attempt receiving chains in Steel - Construction, Silver - Medicine, Lead - Poison, Iron - Warcraft, Gold - Accounting, Copper - History, and Brass - Philosophy. Seven courses, seven Horcruxes, and the Faith of the Seven. God's be, he was surrounded by that number.

What could he expect in this world, and his last? Seven was a magical number.

He didn't care, at this point, he just wanted to sleep. The carriage was not a very easy place to rest. Later, with more energy, he would begin his link programs and read the massive library.

And he would fall asleep, with great ease.

But plots were hatching from behind the bookshelves. Perhaps his life after the Citadel, wouldn't be as promising as he hoped.

Dreams of green fire and the tolling bells of a Sept would come not too far in the future, but he was still in his adolescence. When he awoke the next morning, he would need to take his vows as an acolyte. The maesters were already preparing the general induction ceremony for next week.

All the while, he was blissfully unaware of what the future held, while he thought of the vast repertoire of books, once upon a dream

Semel In Somnium.


	5. Insaniam

**Chapter 5: Insaniam**

**271 A.C, 3rd Moon, 17th Day - Oldtown, Westeros**

Clack.

Clack.

Clack. 

Marble tile meeting wooden heels. 

Only after some gruelling scenarios, did Harry actually gain some momentum in his education. Three of the acolytes on his first day abandoned him, for some unknown vendetta, but in turn, this left him basically stranded in some random tiny and dusty hall.

It took him 1 hour to find the way back to his room (even after a point-me charm), another hour to actually find the way to the hall, and obviously, by then, breakfast had ended and he was made to run all the way to his first class. Warcraft was absolutely disgusting. The old Archmaester teaching the course was as weak, feeble, and creepy as one would normally see in a senile man. He had no true ability to determine the correct strategies to use, nor did he look like he was in any battle either.

Archmaester Farbald, the old coot sat at his desk drinking mead and allowing the acolytes to self-study in a corner while he simply dozed off.

That class was immediately dropped. 

The second and third class, Poison and Medicine were exceptionally enlightening, the former as Harry never dabbled in poisons apart from potions (but in another world, he had no idea if magical plants existed). The latter was far more anatomically and chemically based than the small repertoire of healing spells Harry knew, which basically only amounted to Vulnera Sanentur. 

Philosophy was horrid, although Harry should have expected this considering that this was some medieval time-period where so many were oppressed by the obviously wealthy and influential upper class. 

Lorand, the master of that course was well known-apparently through the maester circle as highly xenophobic - especially towards Essosi culture, sexist in his beliefs of male-dominance, and even some rumours of pedophilia came around once in a while. Harry just left the class and didn’t attend the next day.

Accounting and Construction were slightly boring but had a good amount of material that would satiate Hariloas’ mind. They didn’t implement a wide-scale double-bookkeeping system, but that was simply because accounting wasn’t a profession done often by a Maester, and neither did every Maester follow a specific system if they were relegated to the task. 

It was the construction course that took him a bit by surprise. The extensive heights and grandeur of castles were far too extraordinary for even the Andals to build especially since they did not have magic as Brandon the Builder did. Kings Landing and Harrenhal was a testament to this. 

Harry, however, saw that several of the materials that existed in this world were a bit more durable than the ones on Earth, as well as, a deal lighter. 

In the first class, a small lecture on the benefits of deeper foundations took place and referenced the horrendous state of Moat Cailin as it was slowly collapsing into the nearby swampland due to its unstable foundation. 

The drunkard's tower somewhat reminded Harry of the leaning tower of Pisa.

The history course was just as it seemed. While it was interesting and was a far better candidate for an actual class compared to Binns’ teaching, he still found it a bit dull. 

With the time spent in the actual library in Highgarden, Harry felt a bit above the standards of the course and would see no issue in getting good marks during his evaluations. 

With the spare time, he simply took on Valyrian Steel - Magic, and was no longer burdened by that dastardly number seven. 

Archmaester Marwyn apparently went cuckoo long ago and no longer taught his course and instead allowed his students' free access to the library to learn themselves. 

Harry wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or excited at the freedom.

* * *

Nearly a week in, and Harry wasn’t in any rush to move through the vast corridors of the musty Citadel and rather took time to gather his thoughts concerning the purpose of the citadel and its reach of power. 

The citadel and the maesters were truly an influential group with no political or social bounds. To control all facets of knowledge in Westeros, the non-existent healthcare system, and the sole contributors to education...

It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

And among all these thoughts about the sheer magnitude of the Citadel's power, he thought back to his goal of gaining influence throughout Westeros. Again his auburn bangs stabbed into his eye and he stopped a moment to blink away the slight pain. 

He needed to think about who his allies were, who were neutral parties - who were the ignorant, and who would actively work against him which were quite a few considering that he would become a Maester. 

Of course, as the second son of a rich Great House, Hariloas already had a somewhat decent amount of power, but he needed more if he wanted to have any ability to change the built and fortified social/economic structures of this new world. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t new anymore to him. He had been here for a while.

Currently, beyond being a son, he was a nobody. An absolutely rich and conceited little boy with delusions that he alone could overthrow a system. 

Impossible.

That was fine for the time being, but indeed, he had no allies (beyond his old household), but no enemies either. Everyone was a neutral party unless he directly interacted with them.

He cast a Tempus charm and sighed.

Nearly late for induction into the citadel. He thought he was early but guessed that being stuck in your thoughts really did take a toll on your perception of reality.

But he was already there. Three Maesters stood at the front of the doors and told him to silently enter a dark room. 

“In there you shall find three candles, if you can light them, you have the easy capability to be enlightened, otherwise, you must stay inside the room for the entire night, come out at dawn, and continue your studies then.

Harry was already learning for a week but that was due to his noble status, his family, and the status he was already granted when he entered. Although now through this test, he would become an official acolyte 

Instinctually Hariloas felt a bit tense. Tense from the cold gust of wind from the outside, from the entrenched darkness from the room beyond, and tense from the moronic acolytes that spilled ale on his tunic in the morning “accidentally”. 

Sometimes he wished that he could give them a good spanking, but then remembered that he was very young, and would cause them to gain more hatred for the fact that he was from a Great House. 

He did remember the names, however. A Garen, Roland, and one Tywin - whoever was brave enough to name this one is probably dead now.

Harry walked into the room, and the doors closed behind snickering Maesters. Who obviously didn’t believe that he could light up the candles and would miss dinner in the darkness. 

There were no lingering dark presences or dark magic afoul. However, A small window at the very roof had a stream of moonlight which barely allowed him to see his surroundings. 

It took time to adjust to the lighting and his foot kicked some heavy box and nearly made him fall on his face. 

Three candles as was said, were on pedestals, silent and cold. Black, gnarled and curved like a unicorn horn. It was crystalline or stony, he couldn’t see too well in the dim lighting. 

The moonlight did reflect a bit off the Obsidian? Obsidian. 

That was strange. Harry had no idea that the Citadel used precious artifacts of the destroyed Valyrian Empire for a mere induction ceremony.

With a quiet Lumos, Harry was able to look at the candles with a bit more depth. 

Spelled in High Valyrian were several words that no Acolyte would have known - considering that many came at early ages and weren’t of noble status. And no Maester or Archmaester could use them as they were inherently magical and required magic itself. 

three drops of the fresh rose,

a victim of death shall decompose

seven lines of the old tongue sing

the holy magic of light and spring

choose your eyes in lands far and wide

find that which may be hidden from your mind

riches, glory, and sounds of enemies shriek 

only if the pursuit of knowledge is what you seek

Hariloas’ eyes widened. A goddamn riddle. The stupid one from Gringotts was stuck in his head all the time since that one day from when he was 11 years old. 

He wasn’t excited, but he set his head to see how he can fulfill the conditions. The warnings were obviously at the bottom, that he would only be able to “see” if he chose to expand his knowledge for no other reason than gaining wisdom. 

Three drops of a fresh rose referred to blood - most likely of the castor, he would also require a sacrifice - a victim of death, the recitation of something from an old tongue. 

This wouldn’t refer to the Old Tongue of the First Men as the Valyrians would not speak that, and it was pretty evident that it was High Valyrian. 

Some form of light or healing magic, and then choosing his destination of clairvoyance. 

The barbed pedestal made sense now, they probably expected him to use that to his disposal. He slashed his palm against one of the sharper and cleaner spikes, no need to gain some disease from the filthy thing. Three drops onto the flat surface where the flame would normally light from. He needed to find a victim. 

This was a dank and dusty storage room so there should be some critters around the floor. He heard a bit of scurrying and small feet and used an Accio to catch a rat at the corner of his vision. Instantly using a cutting curse mixing their blood with the blood already on the candle.

He spoke seven distinct verses of an old Valyrian folk song aptly named the Dragon and it’s Hoard and moved on. The candle was warming up slightly and began to glow a dull red colour. The spikes became visibly longer but no flame was lit yet. 

The next step required magic of light and spring, but he only knew a few light spells. The bluebell flame seemed to fit more with the candle aesthetic, but it wasn’t representative of spring. Incendio wasn’t focused on providing light. The choice was made to Lumos, but he hoped it would satisfy the “spring” requirement. 

As soon as he uttered the spell, the light from his hand travelled to the centre of the candle and a large disc of light widened from the small source it was before.

An oblong light mirror was formed in front of him and showed through to the wall in front of him. 

His heart was beating furiously against his chest and he thought he felt a bit of bile come up and give him heartburn. However, the candle was slowly sucking away at his magic like a leaching bundle of tendrils. 

All that was left was to seek some destination for the mirror. He spoke Highgarden in Common Tongue as no word was translated into High Valyrian, however, the candle understood from his thoughts. An image of Highgarden with its rose fields and hilltop castle lay peacefully under a calm night sky.

Hariloas chose to test it further and asked for the Lord’s chamber in Highgarden. Another image, this time, with a large bed with two lumps which would be his mother and father softly rise and fall with their snores. 

Going further to the King’s Chamber in the Red Keep, there he found a horrid image of one Aerys and one of his mistresses having a dandy time while there was no sign of Queen Rhaella. He quickly changed the scene to Winterfell castle and took a moment to silently push that memory from to the back of his mind using Occlumency. This time a beautiful and grey-gaunt castle lay on dark green fields with one massive Weirwood tree contrasting with the colours of the castle with its white wood and red leaves. 

Every different image showed a different scene, and he asked for places he had never been or seen before in case the candle only showed his memories. All, however, seemed to be true as half the places and people he saw were never people he had met. 

He tried up North and down to Dorne, but he noticed that the farther he went, the greater magic was sucked out of him. He tried to get to Dragonstone but he was instantly deprived of a quarter of his magic so he believed that perhaps reaching across any sea or water would strip him. Reasonably he left Essos alone and tried going further North. 

The Wall was massive, reflective, and absolutely magnificent under the light of the moon glowing with magical runes that Harry had to zoom into. They were First Men runes so he wasn’t able to decipher them. 

However, as soon as he attempted to go past the wall and into the Haunted Forest, a pale and grotesque face entered his mind and felt a legitimacy attack like no other. The candlelight flickered and went back to its position at the Wall. Lying on the floor from some form of mind magic, Hariloas struggled to find the way back to his feet.

What form of magic was that powerful? Which mage had control of that magic, why were they past the Wall, who were they, and why did they push me out?

So many questions filled the thoughts of Harry as his mind raced a million kilometres an hour attempting to understand who the old creature of the man was. All he knew was that he wouldn’t attempt to go back above the wall using this candle or another form of clairvoyance until he regained more of his magical power. 

Left with a head-splitting migraine he returned the candle to its original window-like state with no scenes playing on it. 

He had barely any magic left so he walked to the door in a haggard state and knocked thrice. 

The same two men opened the door. At the sight of a pale and sweaty Harry, but a lit candle, they gasped in shock. “Call the seneschal, I’ll get Maester Marwyn!?.”, “It’s a miracle!!”, “An acolyte has done it!”, “They’ve lit one of the candles!”

They both ran in panic to their destinations and nearly half-an-hour later with a rejuvenated Harry sitting on one of the seats that they left empty as they exited, four men returned running down on the resounding floor. 

The seneschal whom Harry met previously at his entrance to the Citadel immediately saw the candle and collapsed from shock, fright? Harry was unsure. 

A sallow skeleton with a long beard and a Valyrian steel staff came forward towards the candle and looked at it with maniacal eyes. 

The two maesters attempted to gather up the seneschal into a more comfortable position before carrying him to an infirmary, leaving Hariloas with this scenic replica of Albus Dumbeldore, who could only be Archmaester Marwyn from the words of the Maester before they ran like chickens. 

He simply gazed at the candle with some burning emotion before finally noticing Harry at his side and transferring that predatory gaze to him.

Harry just felt another headache coming to him as he wanted to sleep after dealing with the man-beyond-the-wall. However, Harry just knew that this year, like the ones he had at Hogwarts, would not be uneventful. 

As much as cursed himself, Marwyn would continue to stare at him with a gaze like one would an experiment…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Y’all I didn’t even know that I would choose to update this story again, but then I was just like, ugh, I should just do it. I got some trauma from my English 30-1 course and I couldn’t look at a keyboard for a while, but the phase has passed and I think I can move along. Perhaps this story will update at a glacial pace, idk, but I think I will continue updating, whether it’s frequent or not. Also, I tried really hard on that rhyme but I’m not sure if it was good enough. I now remember how difficult it was to write so many words.


End file.
